I have a fair amount of trouble whenever I decide to buy clothes for myself. You see, I like to pretend that I am an individual and so the fabric of which covers my body must reflect that. This is probably a common issue since everyone thinks they are unique in someway unless, you have an identical twin. If I had a twin the last thing I would do is hang out with them everyday, finish their sentences and wear the same clothes as them. I would probably dedicate my entire life to trying to get as far away from them as possible. I don't really know how I feel about twins or rather, the idea of twins. They seem like a bit of a glitch to the birthing process.
It's similar to putting money into a vending machine to get a packet of crisps and suddenly, for what seems like the greatest thing that has ever happened, two packets fall. This is fine because it's like an extra treat at no extra cost. Twins however, is like an extra surprise treat that costs you double what you intended to pay, regardless of your parental planning tactics. It wouldn't be so bad if the extra baby wasn't tediously identical as the original, aside from perhaps variations in preferred flavour of ice-cream or something. Society however, quite likes twins. They're funny and trendy. I remember there was this TV show that I used to accidentally watch while trying to catch an episode of 'Sabrina the teenage witch' called 'Sister Sister'. I think I have to blame this show for the birth of my thoughts regarding twins being an inconvenience. It was disgusting. Aside from the serious dramas of being a twin which surrounded these two boring and depressing sisters, I just seem to remember a small boy who was a charming and romantic with a heart of gold.
His name was Roger and he looked beyond the twin fetish that attracted those other guys and would bring flowers to the house while often providing assistance in solving the daily problems. However, "go the fuck home Roger!" I never knew why. Relationships would also be tricky. If one twin gets a boyfriend of girlfriend you must assume that this person is also attracted to your brother or sister. Maybe this issue was covered in an episode of 'Sister Sister' but, I didn't hate myself enough as a child to spend 30 minutes trying to find the answer. Another issue would be that if one of the twins put on a little bit of weight, they would be defined by the public as 'the fat one'.
Ok, so that's twins. I was supposed to be talking about clothes. I think the main issue with projecting individuality while shopping for attire is that you can only buy, what the shops sell. You might be stalking the streets thinking you're the culture when suddenly, the hipster t-shirt you bought from Topman or H&M is being worn by a 12 year old with blonde spiky hair and crooked teeth. It's at this point that you realise that you should probably just go home in-case people see this little prick, before they see you. This place is tainted. Your dandy haircut, wide frame cosmetic glasses and nonchalant way you nervously walk have been compromised. I know a few people who are sickeningly bohemian and exclusively buy clothes from charity shops, inter-city thrift emporiums and Ebay. This is a fine idea and I have also done it myself. However, I don't buy a plaid bowler hat with a feather in it, accompanied by a bright red t-shirt then, walk around at casual venues with a smug sense of noxious pride. There is a difference between a 'trend-setter' and looking like the refuse left behind from a car-boot sale.
I mean, it's impossible to be an individual really, I think there is a general agreement that everything is a copy of a copy of a copy and if you think otherwise, you're probably just trying to be an individual. I know people, mainly girls, who study textiles and fashion. The thing is, generally, girls who study fashion do so just because they simply like to wear clothes and don't really have much else in terms of substance or passion. They probably watch 'Devil wears Prada' and before announcing it on Facebook decide, being a fashion designer looks neato, I bet I would do even better than Anna Hathaway because, I'm savvy and all my clothes look super 'lush'. The thing is, I'm not just trying to cynically dissect the ideas of brand clothing and design. I just want substance, I don't want to see sequins on a t-shirt, I don't want to see a slogan that implies vague violent or general superiority and I don't care what is 'in'. Give me creativity, thoughtfulness and personality and I will wear it. That, or anything that has a tiger on it.
Saturday, 7 August 2010
Thursday, 22 July 2010
Charity is a girl's name.
The other day I was walking through Loughborough which, isn't a particularly pleasant experience. I had spent the whole day on my own and my mouth hadn't made a noise for hours which was making me feel a little bit insane. While heading back home, a young woman was staring at me and as I took a few more steps, she beckoned me over. She was very neurotic and was smiling all the time, for no reason. I already knew that she wanted my money or something but, she didn't get right to the point and was trying to soften me up with small talk. That isn't how real life works, strangers don't just smile at you and display giddy interest in my life without a secret agenda like, charity or sex. Since I hadn't spoken to anyone all day, I was willing to be subjected to this person just so I can use my voice and feel normal again. Charade you are charity woman, you may think you are throwing all these subtle small talk tactics on me but, little do you know that it is I, Jay Raine, who is using you.
The first thing she said to me, which was strange, was that she is Canadian and not, American. She then laughed. I looked at her laughing face and did a little fake laugh of my own, we're laughing, we're having casual fun, no strings attached. I get it, the world likes Canada probably a little more then it likes America, classic. She then starts asking me general things which, I found difficult to answer, such as, "What are you doing?". This is your domain Canadian, you should know what I'm doing, I'm here because of you. I just told her, 'buying a drink, heading home', She nodded. I was enjoying this, I already knew that I wasn't going to give her any money so, it was fun to see her methods which might have worked on other people. She is probably more successful on lonely old women who don't understand what's going on but, like having someone to talk to, she's a monster. She started asking me about what 'I do' in general, I've done this before, I told her my current position in the education system, that's what they want. She then started talking to me about how she had just finished university and how she has a pet dog and how she has a friend who has hair like mine who is really nice. I don't understand why she told me the hair thing, it's not really a compliment. My hair style isn't a crown for nice guys, I'm not that nice really. Maybe she was trying to reinforce a stereotype unto me like, maybe I would be nice if I knew other people who shared similar characteristics where nice? I'm not sure, I just said, "yeah".
She then got to the point. She took a loud exhale and told me that she is a 'paid helper for UNICEF, do I know what UNICEF is'. I made a mental note of the word 'paid' and said yes. UNICEF help children who she claims are denied human rights, there's nothing funny about that really, that's probably true. She then threw a hot potato at me and asked me if I am interested in helping children?! There's only one answer to that, unless you're a bastard. I was told that these children belong to countries, that she failed to name, which are run by governments which do not provide medical vaccines and so the children are dying from diseases that do not effect you or I. I believe her. She told me that each vaccine costs only £2, she asked me, if I had £2 right now, which I did, what would I spend it on. My inner self smiled as I told her I would probably buy a Cherry Coke since I'm thirsty, I did my 2 blog readers proud.
Here's a script, it's easier this way.
UNICEF: So, you would buy a cherry coke? See, once you have drunk it, it's gone. That money could have saved a child.
Me: Well, it would have quenched by thirst which helps me to survive?
UNICEF: Yeah but, you could always buy another one?
Me: I thought I only had two pounds?
UNICEF: Ok, if you had another two pounds after the Cherry Coke, what would you get with it?
Me: Vaccines?
UNICEF: exactly it's li-
Me: For me.
UNICEF: *laughs*
UNICEF: You don't need vaccines.
Me: Probably worth getting them though just in case, if they're only two pounds. I could always give them to you after a while if I don't use them.
She laughed a bit more and then realised that she was going to have to make this whole thing a little less light-hearted. She told me that all they needed was £9 pounds a month. This confused me, I thought vaccines were £2? 9 isn't even a multiple of 2, where is that extra 1 going? UNICEF parties? Champaign? Gold rims for the UNICEF limo? She then asked me for my bank account details. I started off being nice, told her that I'm a student, don't have any money of my own but I realise it's a worthy cause and would likely contribute once I have a steady income. To be honest, I might. Suddenly, she turned on me, her voice become firmer and her eyes closed slightly, she informed me that everyone has £9. A little bit of me wanted to correct her in reference to the children who can't afford vaccines but, I wouldn't have felt good about myself if I did. Instead, I brought out the bomb I had kept hidden. I asked her how much she got paid., before she could answer, I suggested that perhaps she should donate her salary and work for free. She frowned, shook her head and told me that wasn't an option. That answer wasn't good enough for me but, I didn't pursue it. I think it was her last attempt but she seemed angry and asked me, "So, you're just going to do nothing?". I don't normally speak to strangers with arrogant charisma but, I had words in my mouth and I just decided to say them. Here's the gist of what I said.
"I understand that dying children is not good and something should ideally be done to combat it. However, throwing money at them is not a solution or, at least it's not a permanent solution. You need to address the underlying cause of the problem. If the government is oppressing it's people then, that has to be the focus of a resolution. I realise it's not easy and perhaps UNICEF don't have the power to do anything about it but, if UNICEF is just a life support machine that requires a constant fuel of donations, I don't see how that is helping anything, aside from making 'us' feel better about ourselves."
I was very proud about this, I had hoped that passers by might have listened in and wanted to be my friend. Probably not, I'm ranting to a charity worker. The Canadian woman looked at me for a while and took a deep breathe in while shaking her head before saying, 'thanks anyway' and shaking my hand. I smiled and shook her hand before walking off and lighting a cigarette like a deluded rock star who just played the worst gig of his life but, convinces himself the boos where cheers. It was nice to hear my own voice again though.
The first thing she said to me, which was strange, was that she is Canadian and not, American. She then laughed. I looked at her laughing face and did a little fake laugh of my own, we're laughing, we're having casual fun, no strings attached. I get it, the world likes Canada probably a little more then it likes America, classic. She then starts asking me general things which, I found difficult to answer, such as, "What are you doing?". This is your domain Canadian, you should know what I'm doing, I'm here because of you. I just told her, 'buying a drink, heading home', She nodded. I was enjoying this, I already knew that I wasn't going to give her any money so, it was fun to see her methods which might have worked on other people. She is probably more successful on lonely old women who don't understand what's going on but, like having someone to talk to, she's a monster. She started asking me about what 'I do' in general, I've done this before, I told her my current position in the education system, that's what they want. She then started talking to me about how she had just finished university and how she has a pet dog and how she has a friend who has hair like mine who is really nice. I don't understand why she told me the hair thing, it's not really a compliment. My hair style isn't a crown for nice guys, I'm not that nice really. Maybe she was trying to reinforce a stereotype unto me like, maybe I would be nice if I knew other people who shared similar characteristics where nice? I'm not sure, I just said, "yeah".
She then got to the point. She took a loud exhale and told me that she is a 'paid helper for UNICEF, do I know what UNICEF is'. I made a mental note of the word 'paid' and said yes. UNICEF help children who she claims are denied human rights, there's nothing funny about that really, that's probably true. She then threw a hot potato at me and asked me if I am interested in helping children?! There's only one answer to that, unless you're a bastard. I was told that these children belong to countries, that she failed to name, which are run by governments which do not provide medical vaccines and so the children are dying from diseases that do not effect you or I. I believe her. She told me that each vaccine costs only £2, she asked me, if I had £2 right now, which I did, what would I spend it on. My inner self smiled as I told her I would probably buy a Cherry Coke since I'm thirsty, I did my 2 blog readers proud.
Here's a script, it's easier this way.
UNICEF: So, you would buy a cherry coke? See, once you have drunk it, it's gone. That money could have saved a child.
Me: Well, it would have quenched by thirst which helps me to survive?
UNICEF: Yeah but, you could always buy another one?
Me: I thought I only had two pounds?
UNICEF: Ok, if you had another two pounds after the Cherry Coke, what would you get with it?
Me: Vaccines?
UNICEF: exactly it's li-
Me: For me.
UNICEF: *laughs*
UNICEF: You don't need vaccines.
Me: Probably worth getting them though just in case, if they're only two pounds. I could always give them to you after a while if I don't use them.
She laughed a bit more and then realised that she was going to have to make this whole thing a little less light-hearted. She told me that all they needed was £9 pounds a month. This confused me, I thought vaccines were £2? 9 isn't even a multiple of 2, where is that extra 1 going? UNICEF parties? Champaign? Gold rims for the UNICEF limo? She then asked me for my bank account details. I started off being nice, told her that I'm a student, don't have any money of my own but I realise it's a worthy cause and would likely contribute once I have a steady income. To be honest, I might. Suddenly, she turned on me, her voice become firmer and her eyes closed slightly, she informed me that everyone has £9. A little bit of me wanted to correct her in reference to the children who can't afford vaccines but, I wouldn't have felt good about myself if I did. Instead, I brought out the bomb I had kept hidden. I asked her how much she got paid., before she could answer, I suggested that perhaps she should donate her salary and work for free. She frowned, shook her head and told me that wasn't an option. That answer wasn't good enough for me but, I didn't pursue it. I think it was her last attempt but she seemed angry and asked me, "So, you're just going to do nothing?". I don't normally speak to strangers with arrogant charisma but, I had words in my mouth and I just decided to say them. Here's the gist of what I said.
"I understand that dying children is not good and something should ideally be done to combat it. However, throwing money at them is not a solution or, at least it's not a permanent solution. You need to address the underlying cause of the problem. If the government is oppressing it's people then, that has to be the focus of a resolution. I realise it's not easy and perhaps UNICEF don't have the power to do anything about it but, if UNICEF is just a life support machine that requires a constant fuel of donations, I don't see how that is helping anything, aside from making 'us' feel better about ourselves."
I was very proud about this, I had hoped that passers by might have listened in and wanted to be my friend. Probably not, I'm ranting to a charity worker. The Canadian woman looked at me for a while and took a deep breathe in while shaking her head before saying, 'thanks anyway' and shaking my hand. I smiled and shook her hand before walking off and lighting a cigarette like a deluded rock star who just played the worst gig of his life but, convinces himself the boos where cheers. It was nice to hear my own voice again though.
Wednesday, 21 July 2010
Pretty Ribbon.
Today, I left the stagnant comfort of my room and went to town to buy some cigarettes and something that kills ants. I'm not usually bothered by the existence of ants, they don't try and kill me so, I respond admirably with the same. However, since I've moved into my new house I've become very territorial and there are far too many ants outside. The ground is literally coated with them and there is at least 30 little holes scattered around which, isn't really a big deal, until I went out one day and the ant revolution had moved to the skies and they had begun to fly. This isn't a big deal either, some of them fly that's fine, well done, what else can you do? So, as I was saying, I didn't mind them flying or milling about on the ground but, when an ant comes into my house, up my stairs, into my room and just sits on my floor like he owns the fucking place is when a war has been declared. I gave you the outside but no, that wasn't quite enough for the bastards. They want to take everything from me. Anyway, I bought this stuff which is like food and they take it back into the nest and it kills everyone or something. They aren't dead yet though. I'm beginning to think that maybe this 'new age' product was actually an invention of the ants themselves, like a trick to get us to go out and buy expensive sugar and throw it around the garden for them. Maybe I should just hand over my room before they trick me into sprinkling poison onto my cereal.
This blog isn't about ants, I got side tracked
So, I was in Town. There was a man in a queue to use a cash machine and he was in a wheelchair. He was wearing a T-shirt that said, 'BEST OF DA BEST' on the back of it. When I first looked at it I thought about how I would never buy anything that replaced the word 'the' with the non-word 'da'. I then thought about how I would never buy something which omitted such an over-generalised, irrespective and outlandish claim. I mean, I'm fairly good at certain things but, I would never suggest that I am the best, let alone best of the best though, I'm not sure how that even changes the situation. Being the best already implies that you are better than everyone else? You can't have more than one person who is the best? Then, if you become better than someone who used to be the best, that person should no longer be refereed to as the best? So, you can't be the best of the best. Anyway, that wasn't the point, my point was how general it is. I wouldn't have minded if in smaller writing underneath it said, in brackets, at tennis or something, so I might think the T-shirt was a reward for a terrific game of tennis or something. But, as it was, it was just gibberish and foolish pride.
I then thought about how he was in a wheelchair and how much of a cunt I am. Wear whatever you fancy confident wheelchair man, don't mind me, I'm a bastard.
I didn't retract my thoughts because I feel like I have to tip-toe around the issue of someone being in a wheelchair. I just realised that the T-shirt was probably a form of self-therapy or a moral booster which is, fair enough to be honest. I would probably do the same but, mine would say, "Best of the best" because, I'm not a dick.
This blog isn't about ants, I got side tracked
So, I was in Town. There was a man in a queue to use a cash machine and he was in a wheelchair. He was wearing a T-shirt that said, 'BEST OF DA BEST' on the back of it. When I first looked at it I thought about how I would never buy anything that replaced the word 'the' with the non-word 'da'. I then thought about how I would never buy something which omitted such an over-generalised, irrespective and outlandish claim. I mean, I'm fairly good at certain things but, I would never suggest that I am the best, let alone best of the best though, I'm not sure how that even changes the situation. Being the best already implies that you are better than everyone else? You can't have more than one person who is the best? Then, if you become better than someone who used to be the best, that person should no longer be refereed to as the best? So, you can't be the best of the best. Anyway, that wasn't the point, my point was how general it is. I wouldn't have minded if in smaller writing underneath it said, in brackets, at tennis or something, so I might think the T-shirt was a reward for a terrific game of tennis or something. But, as it was, it was just gibberish and foolish pride.
I then thought about how he was in a wheelchair and how much of a cunt I am. Wear whatever you fancy confident wheelchair man, don't mind me, I'm a bastard.
I didn't retract my thoughts because I feel like I have to tip-toe around the issue of someone being in a wheelchair. I just realised that the T-shirt was probably a form of self-therapy or a moral booster which is, fair enough to be honest. I would probably do the same but, mine would say, "Best of the best" because, I'm not a dick.
Wednesday, 26 May 2010
Well, I guess it would be nice, if I could touch your body, I know not everybody, has got a body like you.
When I leave the dormant comfort of my home, I am aware of the dangers that exist in the world. These irritating perils include, being randomly stabbed by someone, supernovas, drunk drivers, a sniper, food poisoning, children etc etc. There are loads, but it's the price that we must pay if we want to go outside and buy things, learn things or randomly stab someone. Terrifying the list may be, nothing scares me more than religion. I feel almost embarrassed that humanity has reached such an advanced stage of civilisation, technology and scientific prowess, yet still reside in having imaginary friends and believing in magic. I have a scrap of understanding for people who believe in a god as a form of self-therapy. If you don't have the time to invest in a universal pursuit of truth and logical understanding or perhaps, you simply don't have the mental capacity to advance your mind beyond childish fiction, religion acts as a romantic crutch that mollycoddles your ignorance and allows you to wake up with a smile on your face, even if there isn't a reason to smile. I realise that religion was once a practical social tool that kept poor people happy, preventing them from social revolution and attempting to seize the happiness which was reserved for the bourgeoisie. It was also understandably used to fill in the gaps of understanding when science was just a baby but, we're all grown up now and we no longer need this disgusting old comfort blanket. I'm mainly talking about Christianity.
My main issue with religion is how it essentially stunts the progression of humanity. There are loads of fascinating questions that surround our existence, not naive ones like, "Why are we here?" but ones like, "Does the universe end?" or "Is there life beyond earth?". The idea that humanity might eventually have the capabilities to explore these questions is infinitely exciting. Religion however, does not seek answers. It already knows how and why everything is what it is and that is because of god, problem solved now, go and sit in a cold and scary building while apologising for being human and wait to die so you can finally be happy. I remember a conversation I had with a girl a year or so ago, I was talking about how I don't believe in a god, she responded to my statement by informing me that I was going to hell. I responded with, "That's fine, you're going to flibopolydoo, it's worse than hell, it's like hell's sewer" She then closed her eyes, smiled and shook her head before telling me that this place I had threatened her with in fact, doesn't exist. She was right.
The concept of heaven doesn't make any sense or at least, sounds shit. I am under the impression that my body doesn't go with me to heaven because, it's in a box and looks scary and dead. I am therefore told that it's my spirit or soul that flies up to heaven, what the fuck is a soul? I'm told that it weighs three-fourths of an ounce, what the fuck does that mean? Am I to understand that my supposed 'essence" has a weight? What is it made of? Hope and teeth? Nonsense. Anyway, I assume that my overweight soul does not come with any of the sensory devices that are on my body because, they're dead too and when put together, weigh more than three-fourths of an ounce. So, in heaven I can't see anything, feel anything, say anything, taste anything or wank. What am I supposed to do there and why does everyone keep on raving about it? The idea of eternal happiness is subjective to individual differences and preference. I quite like pizza but I obviously won't be able to eat pizza because I don't have the appropriate tools to do so, even if somehow, for the sake of the argument, once I get into heaven I am given some kind of rent-a-body which allows me to taste etc. There is nothing that I enjoy enough that I would like to do for an eternity, I would end up fucking hating pizza, it would make me feel sick as would everything eventually.
Do dvds get released in heaven? Do we get them slightly earlier, like on an airplane? Are there televisions in heaven and if so, how many? Do we have to share one tv like in prison or do we all get an individual booth of some description which has a tv in it, is tv a sin associated with sloth? What about the god channel? I am not asking you, the reader, these questions, they are for myself. When a question doesn't have an answer it suggests that the nature of the question is flawed. For example, I could answer an infinite amount of questions regarding why I believe 2 + 2 = 4. I would be able to provide formulated answers backed up by evidence from a multitude of perspectives. However, if for some reason, I believed that 2 + 2 = 50, I would probably only be able to answer one question before getting upset and answering every other question with tears in my eyes and repeating, "It just does, ok?!" or "That's just what I believe, leave me alone!". Science doesn't get angry or upset when you question it. It already questions itself, it's one of the main processes of the study. You find a hypothesis and try to disprove yourself, you criticise your own methods and you record all your findings. Religion however, is afraid of being questioned, in the same way I would be if I believed 2 + 2 = 50.
An eternity of doing anything sounds nightmarishly boring and would quite quickly become a personal hell. I would also assume that the 'enjoyment rewards' in heaven are relative to what was available during the time of which you were alive. This would mean that if a well behaved cave-man managed to sneak into heaven, he would have the "eternal happiness" of a fire and a wheel or something. Do physical objects even exist in heaven or are we just allowed to interact with said object's soul? What do blind people do in heaven, if you believe the answer to this question is based on the notion that they will be able to see again, why? Reimbursing people with certain aspects of the human form implies that there is a perfected state. I would then have to assume that stupid people become smart, short people become tall, fat people becoming thin and so on. Heaven would have no personality and everyone would look sculpted into what is considered "best" regarding characteristics and attributes. Therefore, heaven would be the same as earth for a blind man despite maybe hearing nice sounds and touching nice things forever, exciting. It doesn't make any sense, I don't even know why I'm trying to rationalise it. In the long run, hell would be more like a hot bath that is uncomfortable at first but, eventually you get used to it and start to quite like it, then it just becomes a heaven, you just get a little bit more time before you become horrendously bored and miserable. There are a ridiculous number of holes in the entire concept of a world wide system of beliefs, It's terrifying. I want to sit down with a priest and just chat to them without them trying to convert me, talk to me in nonsense pseudo-proverbs, read sections of the bible as though they are evidence for anything, talk about god as if they sometimes hang out, or try to fuck me in my anus.
Religion has this disgusting habit of recruitment and indoctrination. It's funny and a little disturbing that religious people don't even recognise it. I mean I'm clearly an atheist but, my parents aren't. They didn't even talk to me about god, I was pretty much left to my own spiritual devices. I did a lot of exploration into the subject, read the bible, went to church a few times, studied science, read a few books on biology, theology and evolution and ultimately came to the rational conclusion that religion is not for me, because it's ridiculous and silly. I stumbled across this monster called Bebe vox, she is essentially just a trojan horse invading mainstream youth culture, stop trying to indoctrinate impressionable children by pretending to be "cool" Christianity. Cliche' synth dance vomit has nothing to do with believing in your imaginary dad. There is a page on facebook which is like some kind of "army base" for christians based on Bebe Vox. The name of the group sort of already raises the issue:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/invadetheairwaves.
Invade the air waves? It sends chills down my spine. One of the group statuses is,
"Radio 1 are currently re-considering giving the song some airplay, so please pray for favour there. They've also said they'll interview BeBe on the chart show if she hits the Top 40 on Sunday! That'll take a big push in sales, but with a group this size, is easily possible if just a small percentage of us download and spread the word to others. (Please read http://bit.ly/aQ5sUU before commenting on this post.)"
To which a woman, whose default picture is of a gravestone commented with,
"totally agree with the link... Let's all be gentle with each other, i'm behind BeBe 100% xxx keep praying for this young lady, as i'm sure the enemy would LOVE to get hold of all the negativity and use it to drive a wedge between us and God..pray that BeBe would be protected during this project xx" Who is the enemy? Me? Is science the enemy? Is good music the enemy? It's like a joke that has gone too far. It's just zombies with staple smiles and glazed eyes reciting regurgitated scripted gibberish at each other and thinking anyone who has the ability to manifest independent thoughts is an "enemy".
It would be funny if it wasn't so deranged and spooky.
All religions are horrible to be honest. Furious tourists who are raised to hate something to such a blind extent that they blow themselves up in exchange for slaughter and the bizarre promise of being able to fuck a bunch of virgins. No, tourists is not a typo, I'm being funny. Oppressing the human condition and convincing women that covering themselves up is in someway spiritually liberating, violently enforcing religious rules unto the entire world, denying a blood transfusion which results in horrendous quality of life or death, denying condoms to third world countries. In general, if a religion compromises human life, doesn't it become completely contradictory to the nature of it's invention? I bet most people die on a sunday because everything is closed.
Ahmen.
My main issue with religion is how it essentially stunts the progression of humanity. There are loads of fascinating questions that surround our existence, not naive ones like, "Why are we here?" but ones like, "Does the universe end?" or "Is there life beyond earth?". The idea that humanity might eventually have the capabilities to explore these questions is infinitely exciting. Religion however, does not seek answers. It already knows how and why everything is what it is and that is because of god, problem solved now, go and sit in a cold and scary building while apologising for being human and wait to die so you can finally be happy. I remember a conversation I had with a girl a year or so ago, I was talking about how I don't believe in a god, she responded to my statement by informing me that I was going to hell. I responded with, "That's fine, you're going to flibopolydoo, it's worse than hell, it's like hell's sewer" She then closed her eyes, smiled and shook her head before telling me that this place I had threatened her with in fact, doesn't exist. She was right.
The concept of heaven doesn't make any sense or at least, sounds shit. I am under the impression that my body doesn't go with me to heaven because, it's in a box and looks scary and dead. I am therefore told that it's my spirit or soul that flies up to heaven, what the fuck is a soul? I'm told that it weighs three-fourths of an ounce, what the fuck does that mean? Am I to understand that my supposed 'essence" has a weight? What is it made of? Hope and teeth? Nonsense. Anyway, I assume that my overweight soul does not come with any of the sensory devices that are on my body because, they're dead too and when put together, weigh more than three-fourths of an ounce. So, in heaven I can't see anything, feel anything, say anything, taste anything or wank. What am I supposed to do there and why does everyone keep on raving about it? The idea of eternal happiness is subjective to individual differences and preference. I quite like pizza but I obviously won't be able to eat pizza because I don't have the appropriate tools to do so, even if somehow, for the sake of the argument, once I get into heaven I am given some kind of rent-a-body which allows me to taste etc. There is nothing that I enjoy enough that I would like to do for an eternity, I would end up fucking hating pizza, it would make me feel sick as would everything eventually.
Do dvds get released in heaven? Do we get them slightly earlier, like on an airplane? Are there televisions in heaven and if so, how many? Do we have to share one tv like in prison or do we all get an individual booth of some description which has a tv in it, is tv a sin associated with sloth? What about the god channel? I am not asking you, the reader, these questions, they are for myself. When a question doesn't have an answer it suggests that the nature of the question is flawed. For example, I could answer an infinite amount of questions regarding why I believe 2 + 2 = 4. I would be able to provide formulated answers backed up by evidence from a multitude of perspectives. However, if for some reason, I believed that 2 + 2 = 50, I would probably only be able to answer one question before getting upset and answering every other question with tears in my eyes and repeating, "It just does, ok?!" or "That's just what I believe, leave me alone!". Science doesn't get angry or upset when you question it. It already questions itself, it's one of the main processes of the study. You find a hypothesis and try to disprove yourself, you criticise your own methods and you record all your findings. Religion however, is afraid of being questioned, in the same way I would be if I believed 2 + 2 = 50.
An eternity of doing anything sounds nightmarishly boring and would quite quickly become a personal hell. I would also assume that the 'enjoyment rewards' in heaven are relative to what was available during the time of which you were alive. This would mean that if a well behaved cave-man managed to sneak into heaven, he would have the "eternal happiness" of a fire and a wheel or something. Do physical objects even exist in heaven or are we just allowed to interact with said object's soul? What do blind people do in heaven, if you believe the answer to this question is based on the notion that they will be able to see again, why? Reimbursing people with certain aspects of the human form implies that there is a perfected state. I would then have to assume that stupid people become smart, short people become tall, fat people becoming thin and so on. Heaven would have no personality and everyone would look sculpted into what is considered "best" regarding characteristics and attributes. Therefore, heaven would be the same as earth for a blind man despite maybe hearing nice sounds and touching nice things forever, exciting. It doesn't make any sense, I don't even know why I'm trying to rationalise it. In the long run, hell would be more like a hot bath that is uncomfortable at first but, eventually you get used to it and start to quite like it, then it just becomes a heaven, you just get a little bit more time before you become horrendously bored and miserable. There are a ridiculous number of holes in the entire concept of a world wide system of beliefs, It's terrifying. I want to sit down with a priest and just chat to them without them trying to convert me, talk to me in nonsense pseudo-proverbs, read sections of the bible as though they are evidence for anything, talk about god as if they sometimes hang out, or try to fuck me in my anus.
Religion has this disgusting habit of recruitment and indoctrination. It's funny and a little disturbing that religious people don't even recognise it. I mean I'm clearly an atheist but, my parents aren't. They didn't even talk to me about god, I was pretty much left to my own spiritual devices. I did a lot of exploration into the subject, read the bible, went to church a few times, studied science, read a few books on biology, theology and evolution and ultimately came to the rational conclusion that religion is not for me, because it's ridiculous and silly. I stumbled across this monster called Bebe vox, she is essentially just a trojan horse invading mainstream youth culture, stop trying to indoctrinate impressionable children by pretending to be "cool" Christianity. Cliche' synth dance vomit has nothing to do with believing in your imaginary dad. There is a page on facebook which is like some kind of "army base" for christians based on Bebe Vox. The name of the group sort of already raises the issue:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#!/invadetheairwaves.
Invade the air waves? It sends chills down my spine. One of the group statuses is,
"Radio 1 are currently re-considering giving the song some airplay, so please pray for favour there. They've also said they'll interview BeBe on the chart show if she hits the Top 40 on Sunday! That'll take a big push in sales, but with a group this size, is easily possible if just a small percentage of us download and spread the word to others. (Please read http://bit.ly/aQ5sUU before commenting on this post.)"
To which a woman, whose default picture is of a gravestone commented with,
"totally agree with the link... Let's all be gentle with each other, i'm behind BeBe 100% xxx keep praying for this young lady, as i'm sure the enemy would LOVE to get hold of all the negativity and use it to drive a wedge between us and God..pray that BeBe would be protected during this project xx" Who is the enemy? Me? Is science the enemy? Is good music the enemy? It's like a joke that has gone too far. It's just zombies with staple smiles and glazed eyes reciting regurgitated scripted gibberish at each other and thinking anyone who has the ability to manifest independent thoughts is an "enemy".
It would be funny if it wasn't so deranged and spooky.
All religions are horrible to be honest. Furious tourists who are raised to hate something to such a blind extent that they blow themselves up in exchange for slaughter and the bizarre promise of being able to fuck a bunch of virgins. No, tourists is not a typo, I'm being funny. Oppressing the human condition and convincing women that covering themselves up is in someway spiritually liberating, violently enforcing religious rules unto the entire world, denying a blood transfusion which results in horrendous quality of life or death, denying condoms to third world countries. In general, if a religion compromises human life, doesn't it become completely contradictory to the nature of it's invention? I bet most people die on a sunday because everything is closed.
Ahmen.
Tuesday, 25 May 2010
Individualommunity.
I have this bad habit which, I'm sure many of you would be 'trend-setters' share with me. I begin to hate something once it reaches a state of popularity which has inadvertently attracted children and teeny boppers unto it's following. My mind has trained itself to ignore the playful and inventive intricacies of things such as, The nightmare before Christmas. In all honesty, I quite like it, there's nothing offensive about it and it fantasises upon interesting conceptual devices, great. However, if someone were to ask me, "Hey, do you like that film, Nightmare before Christmas?". I would reply immediately, without hesitation, "no, it was utter shit and you're a prick" I would probably then walk away from this encounter with a pseudo smug sense of self-aggrandising victory, most likely smiling to myself for seemingly top-trumping someone with my projected aura of trivial superiority.
If all went well, that human would have hung his head and felt ashamed for enjoying things which are easily enjoyable instead of, like me, watching independent films about social disillusionment and culturally fluent lesbians. Granted, these films aren't funny in a way that makes you laugh or interesting in a way that makes your inner-child want to drink acid but, have you heard of them? No? Check-mate, I win.
This isn't me simply raving about Nightmare before Christmas, it wasn't that good. It pretty much has become utter shit since it became some kind of goth brand for disgusting looking bags and sweat bands. In general I think I am referring my bad habit to the hot topic nook in the corner of every HMV which currently stocks a piece of literature titled "Robsessed". I feel like it's the social equivalent of inviting clinically obese people into an all-you-can-eat-buffet. Yes, they would probably enjoy it but, they don't know what's good for them! You're not allowed to be happy if I hate or am jealous of the things that make you happy.
I am however, very away that if when Twilight was released everyone saw it for how I seem to see it and just thought, "what the fucking fuck is this? Why have they made vampires into infuriating, over dramatic cunts with hair styles and six packs?" I would probably like it, just because everyone else would hate it. It's what I do, It makes me feel edgy. I may seldom enjoy something but once it gets promoted to the culture show in HMV along side Banksy, Tim Burton, zombie based re-tellings of classic books and absolutely anything in reference to vampires, It becomes vomit and, I can't touch it. Except Twilight, that was always vomit. I'm looking forward to the finale of Twilight, Justin Bieber's first drug induced rampage, Miley Cyrus' first unplanned pregnancy scandal and How To Train Your Dragon coming out on DVD.
If all went well, that human would have hung his head and felt ashamed for enjoying things which are easily enjoyable instead of, like me, watching independent films about social disillusionment and culturally fluent lesbians. Granted, these films aren't funny in a way that makes you laugh or interesting in a way that makes your inner-child want to drink acid but, have you heard of them? No? Check-mate, I win.
This isn't me simply raving about Nightmare before Christmas, it wasn't that good. It pretty much has become utter shit since it became some kind of goth brand for disgusting looking bags and sweat bands. In general I think I am referring my bad habit to the hot topic nook in the corner of every HMV which currently stocks a piece of literature titled "Robsessed". I feel like it's the social equivalent of inviting clinically obese people into an all-you-can-eat-buffet. Yes, they would probably enjoy it but, they don't know what's good for them! You're not allowed to be happy if I hate or am jealous of the things that make you happy.
I am however, very away that if when Twilight was released everyone saw it for how I seem to see it and just thought, "what the fucking fuck is this? Why have they made vampires into infuriating, over dramatic cunts with hair styles and six packs?" I would probably like it, just because everyone else would hate it. It's what I do, It makes me feel edgy. I may seldom enjoy something but once it gets promoted to the culture show in HMV along side Banksy, Tim Burton, zombie based re-tellings of classic books and absolutely anything in reference to vampires, It becomes vomit and, I can't touch it. Except Twilight, that was always vomit. I'm looking forward to the finale of Twilight, Justin Bieber's first drug induced rampage, Miley Cyrus' first unplanned pregnancy scandal and How To Train Your Dragon coming out on DVD.
Tuesday, 4 May 2010
My teenage angst just wont die.
I'm sure there is a place where art doesn't exist and people are fascinated by the most basic and mundane creations however, my doormat is not such a place. Aside from the people who can only appreciate art by it's ability to recreate to an organic photographic standard, the community wants to see passion and creativity. I'm sure you feel as though you are pioneering the new standard but, stop showing me your "Hipstamatic" pictures. Playing with lego doesn't make you a builder and using a piece of technology which creates art for you, does not make you an artist. For example, sometimes, while I am on the phone, I make incoherent markings with a biro onto a piece of paper. I don't then take these cave scribbles and present them to the world because, they are thoughtless and have nothing to offer the audience. As a general rule, you should only use the distortion pedal if you can actually play guitar.
I feel strained by a constant veil of disappointment in the people around me, my generation doesn't seem to have anything of tactful substance to say to each-other. It's dominant form lays casually in the art of intentionally misusing language and desperately trying to appear interesting by intentionally being stupid or strange. I say "intentionally" through a fog of optimism. We seem to be drones of competitive attire, status, sexual prowess and attention while being a shoddy copy the diluted interpretation of media icons and external stimuli. If I stop what I'm doing for a moment, my mind doesn't immediately stray towards thoughts of violence, vagina and drugs. This apparently makes me strange and am something to be collectively excluded. Well, good. I like the zoo but, I wouldn't want to live there. The introspective solitude might make me feel crazy but at least I'm going crazy for being sane.
I feel strained by a constant veil of disappointment in the people around me, my generation doesn't seem to have anything of tactful substance to say to each-other. It's dominant form lays casually in the art of intentionally misusing language and desperately trying to appear interesting by intentionally being stupid or strange. I say "intentionally" through a fog of optimism. We seem to be drones of competitive attire, status, sexual prowess and attention while being a shoddy copy the diluted interpretation of media icons and external stimuli. If I stop what I'm doing for a moment, my mind doesn't immediately stray towards thoughts of violence, vagina and drugs. This apparently makes me strange and am something to be collectively excluded. Well, good. I like the zoo but, I wouldn't want to live there. The introspective solitude might make me feel crazy but at least I'm going crazy for being sane.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
3 a-day.
So, it's a hand that you place on your sleeping baby? Why are you trying to breed traumatised serial killers?
I suppose if your shopping list was so secret that a paper trail could jeopardise the mission, this would be useful. What are we actually paying for here? Transferable lines that go on your palm? They provide a pen that you use to write on your skin but, most pens write on your skin and are also capable of producing lines. Are the consumers of today concerned with the professionalism of the shopping list they have written on their body that imperfect, hand drawn lines to unnecessarily rest words on is unacceptable? I don't even know why I am trying to rationalise this, just use paper or memory.
This is called "the boyfriend arm pillow" but, unless your boyfriend is half a torso and an arm I foresee this items only purpose would be to frighten away potential real boyfriends once they find it in your house. It would sell much better if it was made exclusively for insane spinsters who are allergic to cats.
Sunday, 18 April 2010
You're so deep.
Here is your chance to be a song writer extraordinaire!
Do you find it hard to express your fascinating and universally unexploited teenage emotions? Well, struggle no longer!
Use the following words to fill up the blanks below.
Heart, Stars, pain, spill, suffering, darkness, love, breaks, cry, moon, breathe, beauty, misery, death, broken, solitary, sinking, nobody, die, prison, emptiness, dying, wrist, shadow, beautiful, blood, words, dead, poison, empty, dark, break, midnight, alone.
I'm the ______ of your _______
My _______ doesn't love me tonight.
The canvas is _______ and _______
I can't _________ without you, I'm not alright.
I feel ________ and he _______ my _______.
I wish I was ________ so I can survive
_______ is my only friend in the ________.
Only ________ _______ reminds me I'm alive.
So, ________ please, _________ my _______.
I'm the ________ in the ______ sky.
My _____ hurts me, _______ knows me.
I am ________ and I wish I would die.
Congratulations! You're a starving artist and have just written the anthem for your generation!
Tim Burton, My chemical romance, black t-shirts with white writing on them, hot topic, high school, dashboard confessional, studio ghibli, acoustic covers, myspace, fingerless gloves that extend to your elbow, wearing a neck tie with a t-shirt, free hugs, Johnny Depp, Naruto, Taking Back Sunday, being "random", hating parents, buying multi-coloured shoe laces, pretending to write a diary, scratching yourself with stationary, drawing manga.
Do you find it hard to express your fascinating and universally unexploited teenage emotions? Well, struggle no longer!
Use the following words to fill up the blanks below.
Heart, Stars, pain, spill, suffering, darkness, love, breaks, cry, moon, breathe, beauty, misery, death, broken, solitary, sinking, nobody, die, prison, emptiness, dying, wrist, shadow, beautiful, blood, words, dead, poison, empty, dark, break, midnight, alone.
I'm the ______ of your _______
My _______ doesn't love me tonight.
The canvas is _______ and _______
I can't _________ without you, I'm not alright.
I feel ________ and he _______ my _______.
I wish I was ________ so I can survive
_______ is my only friend in the ________.
Only ________ _______ reminds me I'm alive.
So, ________ please, _________ my _______.
I'm the ________ in the ______ sky.
My _____ hurts me, _______ knows me.
I am ________ and I wish I would die.
Congratulations! You're a starving artist and have just written the anthem for your generation!
Tim Burton, My chemical romance, black t-shirts with white writing on them, hot topic, high school, dashboard confessional, studio ghibli, acoustic covers, myspace, fingerless gloves that extend to your elbow, wearing a neck tie with a t-shirt, free hugs, Johnny Depp, Naruto, Taking Back Sunday, being "random", hating parents, buying multi-coloured shoe laces, pretending to write a diary, scratching yourself with stationary, drawing manga.
Sunday, 11 April 2010
ECIV
I don't understand games that strive to reflect the total fucking banality and pointlessness of real life.
The new Gran Turismo game is so pathetic and boring that on the first level you get to drive your mother's car at 40mph while sticking to a blue line for two minutes. If you stick at boring tasks like this for 15 days straight you get upgraded to a car that only a boyband member would ever consider driving. Like one of the guys out of Blue or something. Something sporty like a Porsche or Ferrari.
I don't know anything about cars. I think they're over-priced and the myth about them being girl magnets is a marketing tactic that only works on boys who have failed to develop beyond the playground at school. This type of game is simply a simulation of boredom and the decrepit lifestyle associated exclusively for Lynx/axe-smelling, spotty, human slug boys who read FHM, watch "spike tv" and don't respect their mothers. The point is, this game's all about cars, the reality of cars. You start off battling yourself and your personal sense of self-worth while feeling embarrassed to be driving a car that doesn't look like an electric shaver and make people around you with caps on backwards, flick their nose with their thumb and call you dude.
If you want to have a fun driving game, play mario kart or micromachines. If you can't be bothered leaving your room in order to feel the static of real life, while thinking the best way to describe beer is with the word "awesome". This game is for you.
The new Gran Turismo game is so pathetic and boring that on the first level you get to drive your mother's car at 40mph while sticking to a blue line for two minutes. If you stick at boring tasks like this for 15 days straight you get upgraded to a car that only a boyband member would ever consider driving. Like one of the guys out of Blue or something. Something sporty like a Porsche or Ferrari.
I don't know anything about cars. I think they're over-priced and the myth about them being girl magnets is a marketing tactic that only works on boys who have failed to develop beyond the playground at school. This type of game is simply a simulation of boredom and the decrepit lifestyle associated exclusively for Lynx/axe-smelling, spotty, human slug boys who read FHM, watch "spike tv" and don't respect their mothers. The point is, this game's all about cars, the reality of cars. You start off battling yourself and your personal sense of self-worth while feeling embarrassed to be driving a car that doesn't look like an electric shaver and make people around you with caps on backwards, flick their nose with their thumb and call you dude.
If you want to have a fun driving game, play mario kart or micromachines. If you can't be bothered leaving your room in order to feel the static of real life, while thinking the best way to describe beer is with the word "awesome". This game is for you.
Tuesday, 16 March 2010
Life is like a hurricane, Here in Duckburg.
I was walking to Sainsbury's the other day with a cigarette in my hand. I noticed in-front of me was a non-threatening biker gang of children. These were no ordinary children, no, they were those infamous working class children. We hate them don't we? I can't remember, I tend to forget what social class we are supposed to hate, I think it's usually based on what film you have just watched. Let's say for example, you have just watched Oliver Twist, as the credits are rolling down the screen you may be thinking to yourself, "poor people are just dandy! I think I will smile at them from now on!". On the other hand, if you have just watched a film like Kidulthood, you might walk away thinking, "working class children scare the shit out of me, I have no idea what anyone is saying and I'm afraid one of the ones in a hooded jumper will try and fuck me or something".
There aren't really any films that promote rich people, I think generally the clientele of films is the middle/lower classes so the content of cinema is usually of "being happy" above everything else, including the possible variables which contribute to happiness, like money. You might have a moment where you reflect on the morales you learnt as a child and be thinking in your head, "You're wrong, money doesn't make you happy". Well, you're right, coins and paper won't/shouldn't make you happy but, that's sort of defeating the nature of money, it's the things you buy with it that make you happy. For example, a puppy, a soda-stream or a friend. It's all just like having a rich friend who keeps on telling you how shit being rich is and how life is best when you just stay in line and work hard. What's that poor person? You are getting depressed because you're poor? Don't worry, being rich will make you sad, here's a library of films to validate that, now get back to work. Let's just hope we don't figure out that the protagonist in the film who realises that money ruins your life and all you need is love is actually, played by an actor who will be getting rich from the film.
What am I even talking about?
I got closer to this infant gang and one of them, I think it was the leader, shouted at me in a most savoury manner. The gist of his noise suggested that he wanted one of the cigarettes I had bought with money, for free. I'm aware this kind of thing happens rather frequently and it's usually completely fine, especially when I want a cigarette. However, my quarrel with this little gent exists firstly in that he was probably around 13. I think it would harm the self-indulgent impression of myself if I feel like I am the "type of person" who would give children cigarettes. Secondly, the way he requested my belongings was executed in a manner of which suggested that my stuff, is also his stuff and I must therefore, give him my stuff. The twist of this story is that I said no and then got on with my life. However, after my encounter with these prison reservations, I wondered what I was like as a child, perhaps it was simply the way of human development to dismiss social grace, push the scope of what is expected in human interaction and try and intimidate people around you with a persona that suggests that you are a big person with a knife, trapped inside a little person with a bike. After much thought and self-reflection I came to the conclusion that, I was nothing like him, he's a cunt.
There aren't really any films that promote rich people, I think generally the clientele of films is the middle/lower classes so the content of cinema is usually of "being happy" above everything else, including the possible variables which contribute to happiness, like money. You might have a moment where you reflect on the morales you learnt as a child and be thinking in your head, "You're wrong, money doesn't make you happy". Well, you're right, coins and paper won't/shouldn't make you happy but, that's sort of defeating the nature of money, it's the things you buy with it that make you happy. For example, a puppy, a soda-stream or a friend. It's all just like having a rich friend who keeps on telling you how shit being rich is and how life is best when you just stay in line and work hard. What's that poor person? You are getting depressed because you're poor? Don't worry, being rich will make you sad, here's a library of films to validate that, now get back to work. Let's just hope we don't figure out that the protagonist in the film who realises that money ruins your life and all you need is love is actually, played by an actor who will be getting rich from the film.
What am I even talking about?
I got closer to this infant gang and one of them, I think it was the leader, shouted at me in a most savoury manner. The gist of his noise suggested that he wanted one of the cigarettes I had bought with money, for free. I'm aware this kind of thing happens rather frequently and it's usually completely fine, especially when I want a cigarette. However, my quarrel with this little gent exists firstly in that he was probably around 13. I think it would harm the self-indulgent impression of myself if I feel like I am the "type of person" who would give children cigarettes. Secondly, the way he requested my belongings was executed in a manner of which suggested that my stuff, is also his stuff and I must therefore, give him my stuff. The twist of this story is that I said no and then got on with my life. However, after my encounter with these prison reservations, I wondered what I was like as a child, perhaps it was simply the way of human development to dismiss social grace, push the scope of what is expected in human interaction and try and intimidate people around you with a persona that suggests that you are a big person with a knife, trapped inside a little person with a bike. After much thought and self-reflection I came to the conclusion that, I was nothing like him, he's a cunt.
Sunday, 28 February 2010
Gee! That's swell!
I watched Beauty and the beast the other day and I am struggling to find the morale of the whole thing. DIsney, by a standard, have to include some sort of message for the audience to take away so they can be Christian. Aladin had one I think, if you're homeless, not insane, have perfect teeth, have some kind of hyper intelligent animal companion and magic at your disposal; everything will work out fine. It was probably actually something to do with "being yourself", "never giving up", "don't judge a book by it's cover", "anyone can be a hero" or any other form of advice which is barely even applicable to modern society, unless you're 7 and exist primarily in your imagination.
The advice of, "Don't judge a book by it's cover" is nonsense anyway. You definitely should judge a book by it's cover, that's why people bother to design the cover in order to express the theme of the book. If a book about pirates had a picture of robots on it, it would be completely misleading and pointless. The same is applied to people, we dress in the way we want to be perceived by others. If you get fuck off" tattooed on your face, people are naturally going to assume you're a maniac and are best not to be approached. This is a sensible assumption to make and it could very well prevent you from being stabbed in the arm and or face. Alternatively, if you wear a suit, people will assume you have a certain level of decorum about you. There are obviously exceptions to this but, it's such a minority that it's not even worth putting into consideration. I very much doubt Mr. "fuck off" is actually a beautiful and caring individual.
Anyway, yeah, Disney and morales. I watched beauty and the beast and here's what happened, in short.
Something about a pretty girl
Something about a man/bear/pig thing in a castle
a talking clock
"Never go in the tower!!"
Pretty girl goes into tower
monster goes insane and starts trashing the place
girl is terrified
clock is terrified
Girl and monster end up falling in love
he's not a monster anymore.
Right.
It's about domestic abuse really. The monster gave the girl no other reason to love him other than fear. (I think there was a part when the girl found out that the monster liked music but, everyone likes music, who doesn't like music? get real.) The monster apparently turns into a human once they fall in love but, this looks like a classic case of a beaten wife in denial. It's very common for victims of domestic violence to be blind to the reality that they are living with a monster and instead, pretend everything is fine and they are married to a lovely prince who only hits them when they burnt the toast and deserve it.
I found it hard to find the morale in UP as well. If someone dies, GET OVER IT YOU BORING OLD BASTARD!
The advice of, "Don't judge a book by it's cover" is nonsense anyway. You definitely should judge a book by it's cover, that's why people bother to design the cover in order to express the theme of the book. If a book about pirates had a picture of robots on it, it would be completely misleading and pointless. The same is applied to people, we dress in the way we want to be perceived by others. If you get fuck off" tattooed on your face, people are naturally going to assume you're a maniac and are best not to be approached. This is a sensible assumption to make and it could very well prevent you from being stabbed in the arm and or face. Alternatively, if you wear a suit, people will assume you have a certain level of decorum about you. There are obviously exceptions to this but, it's such a minority that it's not even worth putting into consideration. I very much doubt Mr. "fuck off" is actually a beautiful and caring individual.
Anyway, yeah, Disney and morales. I watched beauty and the beast and here's what happened, in short.
Something about a pretty girl
Something about a man/bear/pig thing in a castle
a talking clock
"Never go in the tower!!"
Pretty girl goes into tower
monster goes insane and starts trashing the place
girl is terrified
clock is terrified
Girl and monster end up falling in love
he's not a monster anymore.
Right.
It's about domestic abuse really. The monster gave the girl no other reason to love him other than fear. (I think there was a part when the girl found out that the monster liked music but, everyone likes music, who doesn't like music? get real.) The monster apparently turns into a human once they fall in love but, this looks like a classic case of a beaten wife in denial. It's very common for victims of domestic violence to be blind to the reality that they are living with a monster and instead, pretend everything is fine and they are married to a lovely prince who only hits them when they burnt the toast and deserve it.
I found it hard to find the morale in UP as well. If someone dies, GET OVER IT YOU BORING OLD BASTARD!
Sunday, 10 January 2010
My friends aren't famous yet.
As a member of society, the most potentially gratifying moment of my ridiculously over glorified existence is to be known to people of whom I do not know myself. To be stopped by smiling strangers who want nothing more than for you to scribble on a piece a paper, acknowledge their existence and smile next to them in a photo to portray the illusion that you are now their friend. We are obsessed with the concept of fame, regardless of how fleeting and impermanent that may be. Let's face it, fame or rather, the golden age of fame is well and truly dead. The baton has now been passed on to children, or those with the equivalent mental capacity, as they seem to be the only passable specimens of humanity which actually care about the encounter of a celebrity, so long as it was manufactured by Disney, Big Brother or something.
We would much rather see a celebrity put on weight and cry than sign a book at some sort of convention. This is partially due to the revolution of quote, un-quote, reality TV. Granted, there is no such thing as it all exhibits from that fucking Hawthorne effect which ruins the possibility of ever seeing the true nature of humans acting like humans, while being filmed. People have been raised by television to believe that there is some sort of rat race for the approval and recognition of other people who watch TV. Your wholesome talents for singing or playing an instrument are nothing but means of which to humiliate and destroy yourself, like a well placed beggar whose charity income is relative to how much he or she can degrade themselves for our egocentric entertainment.
Well, the boys with the most toys don't win and the more people that know you exist, the more people will hate you, unless you die or write a book describing the mundane strive of your rise to stardom. The public is an angry mob with an unquenchable thirst for naivety and spectacle, like a best friend who turns on you without warning then laughs and goads your crippling misfortune. In conclusion, fame should be exclusively reserved for the fools and jesters, lets make medicine, fun and beauty then fuck everything else.
We would much rather see a celebrity put on weight and cry than sign a book at some sort of convention. This is partially due to the revolution of quote, un-quote, reality TV. Granted, there is no such thing as it all exhibits from that fucking Hawthorne effect which ruins the possibility of ever seeing the true nature of humans acting like humans, while being filmed. People have been raised by television to believe that there is some sort of rat race for the approval and recognition of other people who watch TV. Your wholesome talents for singing or playing an instrument are nothing but means of which to humiliate and destroy yourself, like a well placed beggar whose charity income is relative to how much he or she can degrade themselves for our egocentric entertainment.
Well, the boys with the most toys don't win and the more people that know you exist, the more people will hate you, unless you die or write a book describing the mundane strive of your rise to stardom. The public is an angry mob with an unquenchable thirst for naivety and spectacle, like a best friend who turns on you without warning then laughs and goads your crippling misfortune. In conclusion, fame should be exclusively reserved for the fools and jesters, lets make medicine, fun and beauty then fuck everything else.
Friday, 27 November 2009
I have snakes in mind.
Sly like the reach you palm the crown
and blind me like a rat for attention
well suited to use us for parlor esteem
with weapons you choose not to mention
but he just doesn't mind staying quiet
while tracing like a child with a knife
you compare the lingering smiles of ghosts
as they lament and protest about life
convict us for thoughts and elective repose
with the advice we neglected to citation
competing through politics, religion and love
for the trophy of our destructive invention
sharp and quick like the wit of rabbits but
he's got wolves on the tip of his tongue
and she will slice the throats of lovers
if her mother just repeats to her, it's fun.
You crave the ward for a patent smile
and shiver for my breath on your lips
he watches me step with taming grace
and hopes you don't lean in for a kiss
do tour the prints of thieves and taste
the stray of my forbidding routine
as you prize glances I snare restrained
like a knight for the praise of his queen
his luck has it's way of sleeping
your walls retire at the end of the night
while I find the right pose to hold
and tell you, stop fucking with my life.
and blind me like a rat for attention
well suited to use us for parlor esteem
with weapons you choose not to mention
but he just doesn't mind staying quiet
while tracing like a child with a knife
you compare the lingering smiles of ghosts
as they lament and protest about life
convict us for thoughts and elective repose
with the advice we neglected to citation
competing through politics, religion and love
for the trophy of our destructive invention
sharp and quick like the wit of rabbits but
he's got wolves on the tip of his tongue
and she will slice the throats of lovers
if her mother just repeats to her, it's fun.
You crave the ward for a patent smile
and shiver for my breath on your lips
he watches me step with taming grace
and hopes you don't lean in for a kiss
do tour the prints of thieves and taste
the stray of my forbidding routine
as you prize glances I snare restrained
like a knight for the praise of his queen
his luck has it's way of sleeping
your walls retire at the end of the night
while I find the right pose to hold
and tell you, stop fucking with my life.
Third world countries need help!
Sort of, I suppose. Lets pretend that we don't understand how economies grow and civilisations flourish. Lets instead, throw money at them until they stop sending us videos of them sitting around looking sad covered in flies. Surely the whole spectrum of what constitutes as "needing help" is relative to the people who are offering it. By our standards, with our world of fridge magnets, bidets, cherry coke and a million mild variations of shampoo. 3rd world countries are rubbish and boring. However, the whole situation could be solved if we just left them alone and stop telling them how lame they are, that way, they wouldn't know how bad they have it.
Beings from another world may visit us one day from their world of SUPER FRIDGE MAGNETS and GAZILLIONS OF SHAMPOO VARIATIONS, feel sorry for us then tell us how great life could be if we were them. Well, alien dick heads, life was pretty alright until you showed up and started teasing us with your superior lifestyle, now I can't be bothered being happy with my life of regular fridge magnets, I want the super ones. Thanks.
So, Geldof, I realise you have this thing where you get angry at everyone for not trying to create a lovely, united world where everyone is a rock-star and best mates with Bono and what-not. It's nice and everything but, stop it. We can not fix problems by throwing coins at it, especially coins we don't actually have and I doubt it will help if we simply extend the warm branch of western debt to everywhere else in the world. Though misery loves company I suppose, maybe we could dress all the fly covered children in little suits and teach them how to make several power point presentations for their boss before sitting down and deciding the most organised way to kill themselves.
Welcome to paradise Ethiopian child, here is your cherry coke, a magazine that tells you what clothes to buy this winter so you don't get rejected from society and therapy. Have fun.
Anyway, "Geldof" there are more pressing matters to attend to, like the language bomb you have planted. You should probably diffuse it before it annoys me any more than it does simply because it is called "Peaches".
Seriously though, well done if you do charitable work, however, if you still have money in your pocket and don't donate all your money to all charities equally, you are still a greedy bastard. Who cares though, right? This cherry coke is delicious.
Beings from another world may visit us one day from their world of SUPER FRIDGE MAGNETS and GAZILLIONS OF SHAMPOO VARIATIONS, feel sorry for us then tell us how great life could be if we were them. Well, alien dick heads, life was pretty alright until you showed up and started teasing us with your superior lifestyle, now I can't be bothered being happy with my life of regular fridge magnets, I want the super ones. Thanks.
So, Geldof, I realise you have this thing where you get angry at everyone for not trying to create a lovely, united world where everyone is a rock-star and best mates with Bono and what-not. It's nice and everything but, stop it. We can not fix problems by throwing coins at it, especially coins we don't actually have and I doubt it will help if we simply extend the warm branch of western debt to everywhere else in the world. Though misery loves company I suppose, maybe we could dress all the fly covered children in little suits and teach them how to make several power point presentations for their boss before sitting down and deciding the most organised way to kill themselves.
Welcome to paradise Ethiopian child, here is your cherry coke, a magazine that tells you what clothes to buy this winter so you don't get rejected from society and therapy. Have fun.
Anyway, "Geldof" there are more pressing matters to attend to, like the language bomb you have planted. You should probably diffuse it before it annoys me any more than it does simply because it is called "Peaches".
Seriously though, well done if you do charitable work, however, if you still have money in your pocket and don't donate all your money to all charities equally, you are still a greedy bastard. Who cares though, right? This cherry coke is delicious.
Saturday, 21 November 2009
I can make up jokes.
It was a lovely winter morning and as Billy and Sarah woke up from their beds, they noticed it had snowed all night. With excitement rushing through their bodies they rush downstairs, put their little woolen scarves on and little woolen hats and start to play with the snow in the garden. Their mother wakes up and watches them from the kitchen window with a little content smile on her face. The children start to build a snowman and the mother comes out to help, they all pitch in and share a day of laughter and frolic. Soon enough, the most wonderful snowman in the world is made and stood firmly and proudly in the garden. It had a smile of coal, a carrot for a nose and their father's old hat on. The children were now tired so, their mother took them inside to sit together by the fire. While they were inside a bird lands on a branch overlooking the snowman and says, "Oh, hello Mr. snowman, how glorious you look, that family sure put a lot of love into making you! I sure do love the snow it makes everything look beautiful, don't you think?" The snowman turns to look at the bird and replies, "SHUT YOUR FUCKING FACE YOU STUPID FUCKING BIRD!"
Function, dysfunction, destruction, construction, function.
Right firstly, society and the current state of which humanity has reigned itself is disgustingly ambiguous and hollow. The truth is that we are are all mentally Ill and fucked up, there is no perfect specimen. It is my opinion that love operates in the way that when you first meet someone (anyone) you both perform this pantomime with each other, like submitting a brief profile report that includes boring shit like, what films you like, what do you do when you're bored, what's your favourite colour. It's like a script of how to be regular and not draw "inappropriate" attention to yourself. It is the idealistic equivalent of; "Hi, I am normal, are you?" These engagements may be satisfying on a really complex level of self evaluation and worth but, it is just shit, shit and acting.
The more you get to know someone on a personal level, the more they slip on their performance of pretending to be perfect. It works like an exchange, they begin to tell each other how they aren't as perfect as the other person might think they are. Until it eventually moves to the surrender of your mask and armour completely and you both admit how disgusting, mentally ill, broken and traumatised you both are. It is this moment of withdrawal from the silver-lined fog of society that you fall in love. It is the only thing in the world that is actually beautiful, lets not pretend everything is great, it's not. Lets just admit it so we can start appreciating the things that matter. Like each other and how weird and wonderful it is to be alive together.
The more you get to know someone on a personal level, the more they slip on their performance of pretending to be perfect. It works like an exchange, they begin to tell each other how they aren't as perfect as the other person might think they are. Until it eventually moves to the surrender of your mask and armour completely and you both admit how disgusting, mentally ill, broken and traumatised you both are. It is this moment of withdrawal from the silver-lined fog of society that you fall in love. It is the only thing in the world that is actually beautiful, lets not pretend everything is great, it's not. Lets just admit it so we can start appreciating the things that matter. Like each other and how weird and wonderful it is to be alive together.
Sunday, 8 November 2009
Subtraction mathmatics, so far.
The morning aura peeled apart my eyelids as though electricity ran through my bones. I immediately recall the remanence of a dream I was just having, yet could not track back to anything about it. I lay awake attempting to dig it back up for a few minutes before giving up on it forever and getting out of bed, carrying the slight twitch of disappointment with myself. While walking to my window I struggle past a mirror and briefly scan myself for persistent insecurities, like a virus scanner, I re-center myself for a socially accepted standard of self-loathing before I even begin to think about interacting with anyone.
I place an excessive amount of anticipation on the mystery condition of the weather outside before I pull the wrapping paper off the world by prying apart my curtains. I shook hands with myself and made a subconscious agreement that if it looks cold and wet then I will have an undeniably terrible day. To my disappointment, it was mild and average. From my window, I have an embarrassing view of a park where children usually go and laugh loudly. I noticed this morning that there was a boy on his own with a toy machine gun, shooting and supposedly killing invisible things. I watched him for a moment and came to the assumption that in his fantasy, he was not under any sort of struggle or war-based peril but rather simply, shooting things which appeared to cause no imaginary threat to himself, probably unarmed innocents and civilians or something.
I smiled to myself smugly as a form of congratulatory praise for being so clever and witty with my analysis of this little boy. This moment of self-aggrandizing glory was quickly thwarted by a realization that I am the type of person who feels better about thyself when I silently make fun of children. I walked past the mirror again on my way to my kitchen, looking at myself briefly in the eyes while sarcastically thinking "Nice one".
The kitchen held a static hum omitting from the homely appliances, all of which were hooked up to the walls like a hospital ward for the terminally ill. I felt sorry for them but, then felt sorry for myself, for feeling sorry for them. The room itself echoed with my footsteps as I dragged myself over to the fridge. My hands felt heavy and clumsy as though the familiar and loyal childhood hands that once helped me to eat ice cream and climb trees had died, I now just have to put up with dragging their bodies around with me on the end of my arms. There was nothing in the fridge that I felt the desire to place into my mouth, I became briefly annoyed at myself from the past and his inability to comprehend what future me would like to eat.
The kitchen had exhausted it's purpose to me now. If I don't want to eat anything, why am I still in this room. I lingered around for a while like a stock-checker, opening and re-opening various draws and cupboards. As I proceeded to do this I realized how preoccupied with aesthetic impressions I am.
I had no personal desire to appear busy with purpose since, I already knew I had none. I was more concerned with the slight chance that someone may see me doing nothing and forge an opinion that, as a generalization, I do nothing. They would be mainly right but, I don't have the time to confront every pair of wondering eyes with a discussion on philosophy and the relative, futile illusion of what actually constitutes as "busy". I often catch myself talking to myself then I talk to myself about how I probably shouldn't talk to myself, the kitchen cabinets had seen enough pantomime action for one day. I decided to move on and try to appear busy and normal somewhere else.
I place an excessive amount of anticipation on the mystery condition of the weather outside before I pull the wrapping paper off the world by prying apart my curtains. I shook hands with myself and made a subconscious agreement that if it looks cold and wet then I will have an undeniably terrible day. To my disappointment, it was mild and average. From my window, I have an embarrassing view of a park where children usually go and laugh loudly. I noticed this morning that there was a boy on his own with a toy machine gun, shooting and supposedly killing invisible things. I watched him for a moment and came to the assumption that in his fantasy, he was not under any sort of struggle or war-based peril but rather simply, shooting things which appeared to cause no imaginary threat to himself, probably unarmed innocents and civilians or something.
I smiled to myself smugly as a form of congratulatory praise for being so clever and witty with my analysis of this little boy. This moment of self-aggrandizing glory was quickly thwarted by a realization that I am the type of person who feels better about thyself when I silently make fun of children. I walked past the mirror again on my way to my kitchen, looking at myself briefly in the eyes while sarcastically thinking "Nice one".
The kitchen held a static hum omitting from the homely appliances, all of which were hooked up to the walls like a hospital ward for the terminally ill. I felt sorry for them but, then felt sorry for myself, for feeling sorry for them. The room itself echoed with my footsteps as I dragged myself over to the fridge. My hands felt heavy and clumsy as though the familiar and loyal childhood hands that once helped me to eat ice cream and climb trees had died, I now just have to put up with dragging their bodies around with me on the end of my arms. There was nothing in the fridge that I felt the desire to place into my mouth, I became briefly annoyed at myself from the past and his inability to comprehend what future me would like to eat.
The kitchen had exhausted it's purpose to me now. If I don't want to eat anything, why am I still in this room. I lingered around for a while like a stock-checker, opening and re-opening various draws and cupboards. As I proceeded to do this I realized how preoccupied with aesthetic impressions I am.
I had no personal desire to appear busy with purpose since, I already knew I had none. I was more concerned with the slight chance that someone may see me doing nothing and forge an opinion that, as a generalization, I do nothing. They would be mainly right but, I don't have the time to confront every pair of wondering eyes with a discussion on philosophy and the relative, futile illusion of what actually constitutes as "busy". I often catch myself talking to myself then I talk to myself about how I probably shouldn't talk to myself, the kitchen cabinets had seen enough pantomime action for one day. I decided to move on and try to appear busy and normal somewhere else.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Apparently unapparent
Hi.
Humanity, in my opinion, seems to have the neglectful habit of delusion in it's own graceful indulgence fuelled by the illusion of worth and meaning. Desperately clawing and grasping at any explanation regardless of how preposterous it sounds so long as it romantically makes us feel significant in our own beautifully warped sense of purpose.
We are imperfect by the definition of perfect of which we, ourselves, have created and defined as an unobtainable curse. The world would likely only benefit without the word perfect but would still be far from perfect. (Irony inclusive within intent) The best way I can personally think to describe humanity as a whole is 'Glass giants', mighty yet completely vulnerable, reckless and self-destructive yet beautiful and effervescent. Love is a bizarre addition to the overwhelmingly complex series of self-afflicted trials and obstacles of modern human life; love's diagnosis is similar to that of most mental afflictions/illnesses, Irrational thought, paranoia, mood swings etc. etc. Yet, despite its counter-productive effect on our senses it is also the only thing capable of producing true incandescent happiness. The most terrible and loveliest feeling at the same time, sugar flavoured poison.
As a firm atheist I am constantly attacked by people who follow different types of religion. The main issue they have with me is my "hollow" existence, I usually evade continued discussion with such people as it seems impossible to convince them that I am speaking my mind rather than seeing me as a test of their faith. There is a fine balance to human life that sits between logic and emotion.
The common misconception to humanity seems to be we need to be fixed because we are broken, I disagree. For love to exist there must be hate and with beauty there must be depravity and ugliness. Logically emotional. Religions seem to advertise something called the soul which essentially is your "essence" or your connection to the life-force that defines your existence. The soul, in my opinion defines the impermanent beauty and imperfection to our existence, it is in our nature to destroy just as it is in our nature to build and create. A violent child will likely act that way in a pursuit of affection, thus is the irony to us all.
I have spent the majority of my life pursuing and utilizing my intelligence for knowledge and truth as a primary goal. Rewarding as this may or may not be it is not as fulfilling as my incandescent moments of civility and love. It is this quality that makes me human and gives me a soul, I am a scientist painting pictures of emotion. I exist, happy and sad, loved and hated, angry and passive, intelligent and stupid.
yawn
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)